Tuesday, November 30, 2010

The Flibbly Bits Of The Damned

The great thing about designing your own bathroom* is the bonanza of fun you can have mixing and matching tiles ‘n’ towels.

*ie thumbing through the various catalogues and shouting That one! That one! That one! until you reach your budget limit.

The worst thing about designing your own bathroom* is the consequence of making a wrong decision about the mix ‘n’ match tiles “ ‘n’ ” towels.

* And it really is bizarre how you can reach your budget limit before you’ve even thought about the bath, the sink, the shower and the loo.

So. Tiles first. The easy part.

Girly of Whirly and I were adamant that we didn’t want to go with any kind of nouveau Slasher Horror Dungeon look, and took umbrage at the numerous variations on the theme of Clearly Bloody Horrid.

So we went with white.

Plain, white, and satin — with a tasteful natural stone border containing fossilised miniature ferns.

To offset the plainness and the whiteness, we decided on a deep maroon for the towels. Personally, I blame Johnny Depp’s lips. It certainly wasn’t my idea.

And this is where the whole thing — my whole world — went decidedly tits up.

The problem with luxury maroon bath towels (and they really are SO luxury, exotic furry animals queue up outside our front door asking to have their pelts replaced with them), is that they moult a fine maroon dust, tiny particles of towel fibre that get. Bloody. Everywhere.

Six months on, in spite of numerous washes each per week per towel, the entire bathroom can end up being covered in a maroon veneer within minutes of drying your backside.

Maroon fluff, everywhere, like some ghostly anti-Jif aura.

Removing the wretched stuff takes weeks. Weeks of work, on hands and knees, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing. And the more you scrub the less it comes off the plain white satin tiles. The more you scrub the more it moves around in clods, forms amorphous blobs of maroon horridness along the lines of grouting and in awkward nooks and crannies twixt soil pipe and difficult-to-reach cupboard.

I’d rather fight lions in the Colosseum than clean my sodding bathroom.

Rather invite Dale Winton to weigh my bollocks on a wooden spoon.

So I’m looking for the bathroom towel fluff equivalent of those prawny molluscy insect creatures people put in their aquariums, the ones that clean the gunge off the sides of the tank with their innate flibbly wibbliwibbliness.

I’ve built a little hut for one on the landing, complete with bedding and a wheel, en suite facilities and wifi.

All I need now is a weblink, a brochure, directions to a specialist towel fluff mollusc retailer of renown.

Any ideas?


Richard N said...

Don't let Dale put the spoon in the fridge... ;-)

More seriously - attack the offending towels with the vacuum-cleaner... one does the attacking while the other one holds them down so they don't vanish into the maw of the cleaner.
That should lessen the amount of loose lint available.

McKoala said...

Buy the cheap ones next time...

Robin B. said...

Ha! I like McK's idea.

I also wanna see a pic of the spoom idea. I'm just sayin.

"And you could always go with beige next time," says the woman who works in Beige Cubicle Land, the land where everything blends together into non-being-ness (which shouldn't shed much, actually.)

fairyhedgehog said...

I've never heard of that happening before. You must have some malign towel-power.

White towels in white bathroom would cause less chaos. I wonder what you can do with the fluff-monsters when they're pensioned off.

Old Kitty said...

You can always ask Mr Dyson. He has powerful suction. Ahem.

Or Mr Henry.

Take care

jjdebenedictis said...

The problem with luxury maroon bath towels ... is that they moult a fine maroon dust, tiny particles of towel fibre that get. Bloody. Everywhere.


We have a set of these. We have had them for approximately 8 years. They are no longer luxuriously fluffy. They are, however, still welding evil pink fluff to our bathroom walls, tiles and grout. That stuff NEVER stops coming out.

My advice? Sneak into the bathroom in the dead of night wearing appropriate ninja-wear, then club the towels to death, bag them in plastic, and bury them in your garden.

It's the only way.

Sylvia said...

Maroon towels are the work of the devil. FHH is tempting fate.

We have a set of maroon towels too that we put in the guest room. The issue thus did not come to the fore until Cliff's mother came to visit and came out of the bath with an odd blush about her and it became clear that the towels had *stained her maroon* in the process of pretending to be friendly, drying towels. Three washes later, they became colour safe but the damn fluff continued to spread *everywhere*.

We bought black ones for the other room. Somewhat bizarrely, they've never had a problem. It's only maroon.

Whirlochre said...

Richard N
Having recently tweeted about the uselessness of Dysons (a tweet which elicited a reply), I'm not so sure about the vacuum options. Maybe a slug whose underside oozes bicycle repair kit rubber solution.

Girly of Whirly's tights.

What colour you must add to the beige panorama.

As for the photo of the spoon — depends how steady Winton's hands are after two pints of Amyl Nitrate.

White would have been perfect — but for the Generally Filthy Son of Whirl factor.

Old Kitty
As I said in my Tweet, my Dyson has lost so much suction I'm having to feed stuff in manually.

We ought to hire ourselves out to people incapable of generating belly button fluff.

Given the maroon colour, we could perhaps release a seasonal charity record along the lines of We Are The World.

We are The Fluff.
We'll fill your navel.

Sing along with me, folks...

The odd blush! Know it! For weeks, I kept thinking I'd cut myself shaving, even when I hadn't had a shave.

Just glad we didn't opt for brown.

Mother (Re)produces. said...

Oh, Whirl. Towels are so last millennium. Laundry is terrible for the environment and maroon fluff is even worse. The whole problem can be solved with 'his' and 'hers' and 'hislings' and 'herlings' squeegies and an autoclave. It's an investment, but hey, quality lasts.

Bye the bye, if Jaffy turns up wanting her fur replaced with the maroon stuff, tell her nothing doing and she's needed back home, will you?